


12x23 Coda - And Back Again

by FunnyWings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12.23 coda, 12x23 coda, Angst, Dean's POV, Happy Ending, M/M, temporary major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 18:37:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10996653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunnyWings/pseuds/FunnyWings
Summary: Takes place after the finale. Mourning, loss, and a game of spot the difference. Happy ending guaranteed.Excerpt:“Cas, I don’t know if you’re still in there, but if you are, don’t do this. He’s using you. I don’t know what he did to make you buy in, and I don’t care. I just- I-“There was something so wrong about talking to the thing that looked like his best friend. He couldn’t do it.“This may be hard for you to believe,” Castiel says, making sure to say every word clearly. “But this is me. Truly. I’ve found purpose, Dean. Someday you’ll understand.”Dean doesn’t make any attempt to resist Cas knocking him out. A few hours of dreamless sleep has to be better than the ripped raw feeling in his chest right now.





	12x23 Coda - And Back Again

Sometimes the funniest things pop into your head.

Right now, all Dean Winchester can think about is a case from over a decade ago. Some ghost kid at the bottom of a lake, dragging down the children of the two bullies who’d drowned him. Dean had had to dive in to save Lucas, who the ghost had succeeded in luring to the lake.

The water had been so fucking cold, but he hadn’t really thought about it at the time. He was just desperate to get the kid out of the water.

He’d never spent much time wondering what it felt like to be at the other end of that situation. To have your footing yanked away, and be dragged, lungs empty, down twenty feet. No air, just that gut punch of cold pressing in on you on all sides and pushing down harder and harder…

The bite as his knees hit the gravel distracts him for a moment. One blissful fucking moment. As soon as that’s over he’s looking up, because that’s god damn easier than drowning.

No one’s listening, and even if they were what’s there to say? Just cold empty stars and a cold empty body to match.

The thought has hands reaching out, both tugging fists into the angel’s stupid coat and shaking him just a little.

“You’re such a fucking idiot,” Dean says, and that’s easier. “Just once couldn’t you have stayed down when someone hit you? Just this one time, you didn’t have to run in at the last second and try to be a fucking hero?”

Cas doesn’t answer. Because he’s dead, and dead people don’t talk or half smile at you when you’re trying to be funny, or make awful voice mail messages…

It’s a long time before he realizes Sam isn’t next to him anymore. It’s longer before he decides to do anything about it. He roughly wipes his hand across his face, swallows down the grief, and lifts Cas’ body off the ground, staggering a little under the weight on weak knees. He makes it to the house without having a breakdown and tells himself he just needs to find Sam, to make sure he’s okay. That’s how long he needs to keep it together.

Sam stands in the nursery with his hands in front of him, the universal gesture of nonthreatening. Huddled in the corner is a man with golden eyes that flash brighter when he sees Dean standing in the doorway.

Dean is rooted to the spot against his will as the body is lifted from his arms, floating on strands of gold that surround it like a cocoon. It pulses like a heartbeat, a steady thump thump reverberating through the air like a sonic boom. If Dean could move he’d have tried to cover his ears from the painful feeling of his eardrums being pressed in and popping.

The golden cocoon splits open, and from it emerges a body that is more lightning than human. Bit by bit, it reassembles itself, and Dean watches fascinated as a mass that seems too large to fit into the room they’re inside condenses itself within seconds.

Cas stands before them, his familiar (and admittedly heartbreaking) slouch gone, the rest of him perfectly intact excepting once blue eyes that now shine gold. He blinks once at Sam and Dean before turning and reaching out a hand to the nephelim. Some of the fear left the creatures eyes as he saw this, and if it wasn’t Dean’s friend that the asshole had just sock-puppeted, he might even feel bad for the thing.

“What did you do?” Dean hisses at the new born monster, because this was worse. A talking living corpse traipsing around is worse than seeing Cas die ten times over. “What the hell did you do?”

“Dean,” Sam says, voice low and warning. “Calm down.”

Dean bites his tongue if only because he doesn’t want Sam to pay for anything he might say at the moment, drunk off of grief and high on adrenaline. If he could move, he’d slit the nephelim’s throat for even thinking he could do this to Cas-

It doesn’t register that his feet are starting to turn to stone until Sam shouts. The nephelim is looking at Dean with a mix of fear and wariness that Dean feels he should be proud he has the ability to inspire in something that can just turn people to stone willy nilly or open inter-dimensional portals from inside a womb.

“Jack,” Castiel says calmly. “That isn’t how we problem solve. We use our words.”

Dean’s feet are flesh once again.

“Watch,” he says to Jack, walking forward to Sam first.

“We’re going to be leaving. We don’t want you to follow us. I’ll take good care of him, but Jack wants to thank you for what you said. He will keep it in mind,” Castiel promises. He presses two fingers to Sam’s forehead, and makes sure he doesn’t land wrong on the ground. Then he walks up to Dean, and against everything his instincts are screaming at him, Dean tries to break through.

“Cas, I don’t know if you’re still in there, but if you are, don’t do this. He’s using you. I don’t know what he did to make you buy in, and I don’t care. I just- I-“

There was something so wrong about talking to the thing that looked like his best friend. He couldn’t do it.

“This may be hard for you to believe,” Castiel says, making sure to say every word clearly. “But this is me. Truly. I’ve found purpose, Dean. Someday you’ll understand.”

Dean doesn’t make any attempt to resist Cas knocking him out. A few hours of dreamless sleep has to be better than the ripped raw feeling in his chest right now.

***

“What did you say to him?” Dean asks.

Sam had (smartly) avoided the subject of Jack and Cas for the past few days. He let Dean stew in silence for as long as he needed, and let Dean start talking again like nothing had happened without comment. He’s good that way. Always compartmentalizing in a way Dean would envy if he didn’t know how awful it felt to box up everything complicated and rough edged and pretend you could ignore it.

“What?” Sam asks, thrown off guard. This is their third day on the road, driving to who knows where, and Sam’s just tired at this point.

“The nephelim, Jackass or whatever his name is- What did you tell him?” Dean repeats. Sam looks out the window before answering.

“It doesn’t matter how you’re born or what you can do. What matters is what you do with that.”

“Did you tell him how that ended up for you?” Dean asks before he can think. Sam’s face contorts angrily before it smooths out and is replaced with one of pity.

“Lashing out isn’t going to help.”

“Fuck you.”

Sam sighs and goes back to looking out the window.

“Do you feel better now?” Sam asks. Dean doesn’t speak for the next four hours, and figures that’s answer enough to that question.

***

The world is ending. Must be Tuesday.

Turns out Crowley (and Dean tries to pretend there isn’t another bit of grief he tries to ignore wrapped up in that name) might have been doing a lot more than anyone gave him credit for, because the amount of black eyes getting to the surface is off the charts. Hunters with the ability have taken to creating pop up ads that play speeded up exorcisms and keeping recorded copies on their phones. Banishing demons back to hell when there’s pretty much an open door to hell is a little like using your hands to try to shovel water out of a sinking ship.

That’s when Castiel shows up again.

“Dean. Sam,” he says, as though it’s normal for him to just show up out of nowhere. As if it hasn’t been months since they last saw him and Jack (and not for lack of trying on Dean’s part). There’s something stilted about the way he speaks, even in just those two words. Like he’s trying too hard to copy something he can remember feeling but can’t understand anymore.

Dean almost wants to run him through with a knife.

“What do you want?” he says instead.

“Jack is concerned about the increase in demonic killings. My memories have indicated you would be helpful to consult on the best way to address this,” Cas says. “You are skilled at preventing mass slaughter. We could make use of these skills for a mutually beneficial-“

“No.”

Sam glares at him a moment.

“We could hear them out-“

“I said no, Sam.”

“People are dying,” Sam insists. “Let’s just listen-“

“Dean, please,” Castiel says, adopting an expression that is both familiar and just to the left of right. It’s so close to the original Dean can feel the hair on his arms stand on end at the wrongness of it. He has a knife in his hand, and then pressed to the imposter’s neck before he can stop himself.

“Don’t pretend to be him,” he says flatly. “Don’t ever- Don’t ever pretend to be him. That’s the last way you or Lucy Jr. are ever going to get what you want. We clear?”

The knife can’t hurt him. It’s not an angel blade. Perhaps that’s confusing for Cas take two. He certainly looks put off by it, like he can’t understand why Dean’s putting on the show of a threat when he’s not even holding anything he can back it up with. He disappears without another word. Dean slumps, and lets the knife fall from his hand. The clatter of it breaks Sam from staring in surprise.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking, okay? I’m sorry, Jesus,” says Dean. He picks up the knife and puts it back on the table. He avoids looking at Sam as he walks past.

“What if it is him?” Sam asks, before Dean can make a less than graceful exit out of the motel room. “What if he’s still in there?”

“He’s not,” Dean says.

“How do you know-?”

“I fucking know, okay?” Dean shouts. Sam waits and the rest comes pouring out before Dean can help himself. “I know. He doesn’t- he doesn’t look at me like-“

There’s no good way to finish that sentence, so Dean doesn’t even try.

“Whatever that thing is walking around, it isn’t him, okay?”

Sam sits down heavily and shakes his head. Dean wonders if he missed the grief before or if he just wasn’t paying attention.

“I don’t want him to be dead,” Sam says at last. “Why can’t we at least try to see if maybe Jack isn’t this evil thing? Maybe that is Cas he brought back and he’s still adjusting to whatever power source-“

“Sam-“

“Jack is our only chance at getting mom back, have you even thought about that?” Sam asks next. Dean looks down, an obvious admission that no, he hadn’t yet gone down that train of thought. “That’s what I thought. Jesus Christ, I know you’re grieving but you can’t even function. I’m scared to go hunting with you, because your head just isn’t in it anymore.”

“We aren’t working with them. That’s final,” Dean says before storming off.

***

“I’m glad you decided to work with us. I think this will be a great addition to Jack’s moral education,” Cas says.

“Don’t talk to me,” Dean answers. He’s sitting on the motel chair with his arms crossed and doing his best to show just how unpleased he is.

Sam glances at the two of them, but then goes back to carefully talking with Jack about how exactly the demon problem needs to be taken care of. Dean already knows he’s going to be stressing healing any mortal wounds on the meat suits before exorcising demons and saving as many lives as possible. Jack nods along seriously, obviously listening closely.

“I feel like we should talk,” Cas says, because even this knock off version of the real Cas is still shit at taking directions.

“No.”

“Dean, you seem to be under the impression that I’m not myself-“

“What did I say about pretending?”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Okay, answer me this then,” Dean says, because he’s sick of the earnest tone and confusion. “How are you feeling?”

“What do you mean?”

“How are you feeling? Right now, sitting next to me, preparing for another doom’s day showdown, how do you feel?”

Cas doesn’t answer for a long time. Dean wonders if it’s possible to catalogue the stages of an existential crisis.

“Content,” he settles on at last.

“Nothing,” Dean corrects for him. “And that’s the problem.”

“I’m working towards a better future. One without pain or torment or-“

“Looking at you right now is like crawling naked across shards of glass,” Dean says, not looking at Cas as he says this. “I’ll take it, though. At least I know that means you meant something to me.”

“Jack will bring paradise.”

“You don’t even know what that word fucking means.”

***

They go looking for Mary. It’s repayment for contributing to Jack’s “moral education” and making it a hell of a lot harder to get out of hell. It’s hard work though, traveling through dimensions. Harder than Dean thought it would be. The spell Crowley used means that the seam that existed between that universe and his own no longer exists and can’t be reopened by anyone. There are infinite universes, any number of which are in contact with each other and can be traveled between. However, not every universe is in contact, and you can’t know which universes any one universe touches until you’ve traveled inside.

A shorter version of this lengthy explanation Cas shoved at them was that navigating the multiverse is a real bitch.

It doesn’t help that they have to avoid the universes where magic doesn’t exist. Jack is very careful about it, and can spend days at a time picking a new place to go. He makes sure of the necessities (biological compatibility being chief among them) and feels out the shape of the universe, trying to make an educated guess on whether or not it might get them closer to their goal.

Seventeen universes in and they’re still looking.

Twenty five in and Dean snaps. He’s out the door of the “zotel” room (because apparently motel is an offensive word in this universe and almost got Dean in a fist fight with a biker) and down to a bar. Sam drags him back to the room before he can get too drunk, and leaves him in the room with a vague comment about being back later. Dean doesn’t really listen. He’s almost asleep before he notices a shadow at the end of his bed.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s creepy to watch people fall asleep?”

“You have,” Cas says.

“No, I said that to someone else.”

“Your brother asked me to make sure you didn’t drink anymore.”

“No worries. You don’t have to stick around.”

Cas stays anyway.

“What if you’re right?” he asks.

Dear god, stop talking, Dean thinks.

“What if I am just… an empty shell?” Castiel continues. “How am I supposed to live with that?”

Please, please stop talking.

“You’re right. I look at you and Sam, and I remember that I should feel something. But it’s like that part of me is surrounded in bubble wrap and-“

“Bubble wrap?”

“It’s used for packing items so they won’t break when shipped,” Castiel says, almost confidentially. “Kelly and I had a large amount of it when building furniture. I like the way it sounds when it pops.”

Dean almost laughs at that, and the one moment of weakness feels like a betrayal greater than anything else he’s done his entire life.

But he’s tipsy and he’s tired, and he kind of wants to do something unforgivable.

“You can pretend now,” he says quietly as he can. “If you want.”

“Will my internal organs be missing tomorrow morning?” Castiel asks, more out of curiosity than fear.

“No.”

Cas sits in the chair next to Dean’s bed. Dean closes his eyes and listens to the sound of him breathing and then he pretends, too, because it makes the weight that won’t stop pressing down on his chest a little lighter.

Dean’s almost asleep before he feels fingers smoothing through his hair.

“Wrong,” he murmurs out loud. Cas’ hand retreats.

“Why?” Cas asks a few minutes later. “I’ve wanted to before. I can remember it.”

“It hurts too much,” Dean says, too close to sleep to be entirely lucid. “Wanting ain’t about having. Sometimes it’s enough by itself.”

“It wasn’t enough for him,” Castiel says, because this Cas doesn’t have the tools to care anymore, and he can’t keep old pains to himself for the sake of sparing Dean’s feelings, because why should he? “The old me. It wasn’t enough.”

“I know.”

***

Sam knows something happened.

He doesn’t have to say anything about it. The judgment in his eyes is enough. He knows about the small moments Dean steals for himself, the minutes when he’s feeling at his weakest and tells this strange new Cas that it’s okay to pretend. Just for a little while.

But Sam only has so much room in his head and heart to deal with Jack and his grief and Dean’s bullshit, so he he keeps talking to Jack and he keeps leading the mission to find their mom, and Dean is so fucking grateful for that. If it were him, he doesn’t know if he would have been able to keep going.

One hundred and nine universes in they find her.

Mary Winchester is soaked in a demon’s blood and standing next to a Bobby Singer that still doesn’t really know them. She doesn’t believe they’re even them at first, and insists on putting them through tests they didn’t even know existed before letting her guard crumble down. Bobby pats her shoulder sympathetically, as gruff and caring as he was in their own universe.

Traveling back to their own universe takes a matter of weeks.

Dean does feel better having her back, and he spends no small amount of the days rest between series of jumps that Jack gives them talking to her with Sam. Communication isn’t back up to it’s peak yet, but it’s getting there. It’s obvious Mary has seen things, and she’s not exactly equipped to deal with Sam or Dean’s trauma any more than they can cope with hers. It’s a process of talking around the truth and trying to get at something unspeakable. But they’re trying. And Sam seems to loosen up a little every day, until he finally takes Dean aside and really speaks to him for the first time since this all started.

“You have to come back,” Sam says. “I know, god knows that I know, how you’re feeling right now. I know how that loss weighs you down. And it doesn’t get better. But you have to learn to live with it. I miss you so much Dean, and I feel really awful about it because you’re right here. And if you think Mom hasn’t noticed, you haven’t been paying attention.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” Sam says. “I’m just asking that you keep trying, okay?”

***

Mary waits to talk to him. She waits until before the last series of jumps, before they’re almost home before she brings it up.

“How are you, Dean?” she asks.

“I’ve been better,” Dean hedges, painting on a smile and letting it become more genuine as he reminds himself he’s supposed to be trying. It helps that he is happy beyond words to see her again. “I’m glad we found you.”

“Me too,” she says. “Sam told me about-“

She cuts herself off. Dean doesn’t answer. She presses on after the silence goes on too long.

“Are you sure it’s not him?”

“Yes.”

No matter how many times Dean might pretend otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” she says next. “It’s not enough, but I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault. No use apologizing.”

She pauses, and sighs. Dean looks down. He didn’t mean to be difficult.

“I still think about your father every day,” she says next. “Sometimes I think I shouldn’t, after-“

Dean can’t offer an opinion one way or another. He loves his father beyond reason, and despite a seething resentment he prefers not to touch. He can’t ask Mary to hate someone she never met, never knew John Winchester could be. And he certainly can’t ask her to hate someone he doesn’t. Can’t.

“I think about him every day,” she repeats instead of following that line of thought. “It becomes part of you, after a while. And you’re grateful for that at least. That someone got that close to you that you can feel them in your bones, even when they’re gone.”

“Thank you,” Dean says. They don’t hug. That’ll come later, when Dean doesn’t feel like he’s going to fall apart anymore. When they’re home and he’s had time to really accept the new world order. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

At least he can say those words to one person.

***

They land back in their own universe a year after they’ve left. Nothing seems to have destroyed the world in their absence, so count your blessings there. Other than that, it’s a bit anticlimactic. A long journey all for returning home only a little less broken and a lot more tired.

Still, Mary is back with them. That is something Dean knows he and Sam will never take for granted.

They are about to say their goodbyes to Jack and Cas as planned, but Jack clears his throat and begins to speak.

“I wanted to fix things here,” he says. His eyes are captivating and when their full force is on you, it’s as good as being paralyzed. Dean’s always disliked the sensation, but he has a feeling Jack can’t help it. Another ability leftover from good old Lucy, who could sweet talk his way into just about anything. “But I’ve learned, I think, that perhaps things are more complicated than I imagined. Perhaps paradise is not something I can give.”

The words “no shit” come to mind.

“I need… a blank slate,” Jack continues. “A place where I can try to create a pleasing existence for creatures that wish for it. Forcing something unwanted and harmful here seems to me a great wrong that I would do. But I can not exist in a world where pain is so ever-present. I’m going to start again somewhere new.”

This is good news. Dean shouldn’t be thinking about the fact this likely means he’ll never see Cas’ face again. He tries not to think how used to he’s gotten of this golden eyed substitute that walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and still isn’t Dean’s friggin duck. It shouldn’t feel like he’s losing Cas all over again.

Jack takes Cas’ hand and opens up a portal that if all goes well is his last. But before they can step through, Cas stops him.

“The bible gets many things wrong,” Cas prefaces whatever he’s about to say, because of course he does. It’s just the kind of know-it-all statement Cas has to say, even if this isn’t really Cas. “But there is some wisdom in it that I find meaningful.”

“What wisdom do you want to share with me?” Jack asks.

“‘When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me,’” Cas says, emphasizing each word. Great sadness fills Jack’s eyes, and he removes his hand from Castiel’s. “Do you understand?”

Jack nods.

“Thank you for teaching me.”

“Your mother would have been so proud. She would understand this choice, given time. Or given the freedom to understand things as the way they are.”

Jack nods his own understanding of Cas’ words, and tears threaten to fall down his cheeks, but he leaves without a glance backwards. A wave of his hand and the portal closes behind him, leaving nothing but air. Moments later Cas turns around and Dean can’t fucking breathe.

His eyes are blue.

And Dean can’t help it, but he hopes. He god damn hopes because the fucking universe owes him just this once. That’s all he’s asking for, this one little miracle and he’ll be satisfied. Please.

“Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.”

And for the first time in God knows how long the half smile on his face is just right.

It doesn’t solve it all. Not even close. But it’s the best damn start Dean could ask for.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought.


End file.
